by Lily Baldwin
She pressed her hand to her racing heart. Dear God above, how was she going to make it through the night?
~ * ~
Tristan clenched his fists against the overwhelming desire to pull Rose into his arms and kiss her lovely lips and rake his fingers through her soft, tousled curls. Heat from her body poured into his, fueling his desire. She shifted next to him. The scent from her hair wafted across his face. He inhaled, wanting to savor her smell, to take from her what he could. His pulse raced. He licked his lips, imagining the feel of her curves beneath his fingertips, the taste of her skin on his tongue. Tension flooded his body. How was he ever going to make it through the night?
Chapter Thirteen
Rose opened her eyes. She lay on her side, Tristan’s warm body curled around hers from behind. His arm encircled her waist, and his leg held hers captive. Never had there been a more willing prisoner. She was surrounded by him. His warm breath caressed her neck. She held still, savoring his tender strength.
He stirred. She closed her eyes and made her breaths deep and even.
“Rose?” he whispered.
But she didn’t move or speak.
His arm slowly loosened, releasing her waist while the pressure of his leg slid away. A few moments later, she heard the door quietly open, then close once more. She turned to ensure the room was empty. Then she fell back down on the small bed, exhausted and elated all at once.
~ * ~
Philip sat across from his captain at the table on the forecastle. He was attempting to go over the ship’s accounts and supplies in preparation for setting sail, although Tristan was not making the task easy. Philip read off the number of barrels of ale in the hull. “We have more than we need. In fact, our supply should hold until we reach London. Should I cancel our standing order when we reach Calais?”
Tristan didn’t respond. Instead, he stared out over the rails, but at what Philip could not say.
“What do you think, Captain?”
“Good,” Tristan replied absently, his gaze unwavering.
“Interesting,” Philip said. “I appreciate your insight.” He cleared his throat before moving on to the next concern on his list. “Did you log the sacks of wool? We have two more than what our records show?”
Tristan murmured something incomprehensible.
Philip crossed his arms over his chest as he considered the dark circles under his captain’s eyes. “We’ve also ploughed the hull and planted a crop of oats.”
Nothing.
Philip chuckled. “Captain, the ship is sinking.”
“Fine, whatever you think.”
“Captain!”
Tristan looked up at his quarter master in surprise. “What’s come over you, Philip?”
“Me?” Philip said, pressing his hand to his chest. “In the last few minutes you’ve replaced our cargo with soil, and you let the Messenger sink to the bottom of the sea.”
Tristan sat straight and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Forgive me. I admit my mind is elsewhere, and I barely slept.”
Philip raised a quizzical brow. “Why was your sleep so troubled?”
Because Rose and I shared my bed last night.
“I’m not really sure why,” Tristan answered.
“All right, so you’re tired, but why are you so distracted?”
This morning, Rose’s round bottom was pressed against my hard length, and I had to dart out of bed before she awoke and felt my desire.
He lifted his brows and shook his head. “No reason comes to mind.”
Philip cleared his throat. “Before turning in last night, I…ah…went to my old cabin to ask you a question. You can imagine my surprise when I found the bed empty, and you nowhere else on the ship.”
“It’s not what you think, Philip,” Tristan said sternly. “Rose and I have decided to share my cabin to ensure tongues do not wag. Nothing happened. Nothing will ever happen. Rose is a woman of honor, just as I am a man of honor.”
Philip held out a placating hand. “I never would have assumed otherwise.” Then he looked over Tristan’s shoulder, and his face brightened. “Here is your beautiful wife now.”
Tristan turned and watched Rose cross the deck. She looked magnificent in her simple, deep green tunic. Red curls skimmed her waist. She smiled as she walked past the crew who, in turn, dutifully bowed and greeted her, but then Tristan noticed the appreciative gazes that continued to follow her as she approached the forecastle.
“Your men admire your choice of bride,” Philip said behind him.
“Of course, they do,” Tristan said softly as he continued to watch her. “There is much about Rose to admire.” He turned then and looked at Philip. “Have you sent the message to my father?”
Philip nodded. “A rider left Cardiff yesterday bound for London with your marriage announcement and your apologies to both your father and the Roxwell family.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Philip.”
“What is excellent?” Rose asked as she lifted the hem of her kirtle to climb the stairs.
Tristan reached down to assist her. “Philip has just informed me that he sent out a message to my father yesterday, announcing our marriage.”
Rose’s eyes flashed wide, but then her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath. “And so it begins.”
Philip raised his cup of ale. “To new beginnings,” he said before downing the remainder of his drink. Then he set his cup down. “I will leave you both now to break your fast while I check our water stores.” He bowed to Rose before hastening down the stairs.
Now that they were alone, the feelings she had stirred within him during the night came rushing back.
He had held her, buried his face in her hair, and it had felt wonderful.
He looked down at her. She stood stiffly at his side. The silence between them dragged on too long. He cleared his throat. “How did you sleep?”
Rose smiled brightly. “Fine, like a babe, never better…and ye, how did ye sleep, Captain—I mean, Tristan?”
“Very well, indeed,” he said quickly. But then he felt a pang of guilt for having lied to her. “Rose,” he began and placed his hand on hers. “I must tell you that I—”
“Captain and Mrs. Thatcher.”
At the sound of William’s voice, Rose snatched her hand away as if she had been caught with her fingers in someone else’s coffer.
“Good morrow, William.” Tristan said. “How did you sleep?”
“Very well, thank you,” the older man replied. “And what about you two? How did you both sleep?”
“Fine,” Rose blurted.
“Just fine,” Tristan added.
William beamed up at them as he finished climbing the stairs to the forecastle. “Glad I am to hear. I am ready to set sail when you are,” he said to Tristan, but then he turned his gaze to Rose. “But not before I meet your wife. It is an honor, Mistress Thatcher.”
A beautiful smile curved her lips. “Please call me Rose.”
William’s face lit up in response. “Then you must call me William.”
“Agreed,” Rose said.
“Captain!”
Everyone turned and looked down to the main deck where Philip stood.
“The men are ready to set sail and await your orders.”
Tristan nodded and took her hand, gently leading her to the far side of the forecastle. “Are you ready?” he said in a low voice.
Rose drew a deep breath, her gaze locking with his. “I may be a bit nervous, but I’ve not wavered from my decision for a moment. Do not fash yerself about me, Tristan. I’m a MacVie. MacVies were born for adventure.”
Chapter Fourteen
Rose scanned the busy deck, her heart beating wildly. The crew scurried up and down the rigging, toting lines as they prepared to unfurl the massive square sail. Another group of men hoisted the anchor. Her eyes brightened when she spotted Davy coiling the wet anchor line into a large wooden crate. She hastened over to help him.
Coming up be
hind the cabin boy, she guided the line into a neater coil.
“Mistress Thatcher?” Davy gasped when he noticed her.
She smiled. “Rose will do nicely,” she said. Then before he could protest her efforts, she pointed to the line bunching at his feet. “Ye’re getting behind,” she warned.
He turned and quickly took up the dripping rope, feeding her the wet length.
“Rose,” someone said behind her.
Rose’s shoulders stiffened as she recognized Tristan’s deep voice. She turned around to meet his gaze, but she did not quit feeding the line into the crate.
He motioned for her to join him.
“I will be right back,” she said to Davy who looked past her at Tristan with wide, terrified eyes.
“Don’t be daft, Davy,” she scolded. “Ye’ve done nothing wrong, and neither have I. He likely wants to commend our good work.”
The moment she locked eyes again with Tristan, she knew she was mistaken. His disapproval was present in the heavy furrow of his brow. She crossed to his side and started talking before he could. “Ye cannot possibly object to me coiling a wee bit of line.”
Tristan looked like he wanted to praise her and take her over his knee all at the same time. He drew closer and bent his head near her ear. “But you are my wife now, Rose. Remember? It is not appropriate for you to scurry about the ship like one of my crew.”
She lifted her shoulders. “But I am not a pampered merchant’s daughter or noblewoman. Yer men know my humble origins.” She held out her calloused palms. “I’ve spent my life laboring. Ye ken I’ll go mad, if I do not have some purpose.” She smoothed her hands down the front of her green tunic. “I’m wearing my most serviceable garment.”
He only shook his head in response.
She bristled. “Do ye really want a mad woman on yer ship?”
“She makes a strong argument,” Philip chimed in, appearing at her side. “Mad women are messy creatures.”
The stubborn lines in Tristan’s face softened. He threw his hands up. “Help Davy, then. But you’re not to climb the rigging, and I forbid you from hoisting the anchor.”
She smiled. “Thank ye.” Then she turned on her heel and started to walk away.
“Rose,” Tristan said, drawing her gaze once more. “If any of the men look at you…well…like you’re mad, just tell them captain’s orders.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” she said with a wink. Then she hurried back to Davy’s side. After they finished storing the anchor line, she helped him clean the grit and salt off the anchor’s fluke. By then, she and Davy were fast friends. She found out that he was a Londoner and the oldest of five children. When he was just twelve years of age, his father had passed away. That was when he signed on with Tristan so that he could provide for his mother and younger siblings. This was the final leg of a two year stretch at sea.
“Ye must be aching to see yer mum and yer brothers and sisters,” Rose said.
Davy nodded, his red curls bouncing. “They give me a hero’s welcome whenever I return home.”
She smiled. “As well they should. Ye work hard caring for the ones ye love.”
“Davy, stop gawking at the captain’s wife and get to your post,” Piper called from across the deck.
Davy’s ears turned red, but his smile didn’t falter. “Up I go.” Then he turned and grabbed the rigging. His young, agile body nimbly climbed to the top. Rose stood watching with admiration as he balanced across the yard, then dropped into the nest.
“There’s room for one more,” he called down to her.
She smiled and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Are ye daft? I’d kill myself climbing up there.”
“You’ll be fine,” the lad shouted. “Don’t you want to see the world from up here.”
She smiled. “More than ye could possibly know, but that doesn’t mean I can. Anyway, Captain’s forbade me.”
“I said you couldn’t climb the rigging,” Tristan said, appearing at her side. “I never said you couldn’t go aloft.”
Smiling, she whirled around. “What are ye proposing?”
He unraveled a rope and wove it through a small iron wheel. Then he waved Piper over. Piper plodded across the deck, holding his red handkerchief.
“Aye aye, Captain,” he said as he wiped the beads of sweat off his shiny bald head.
“Take this aloft?” Tristan said, holding out the pulley and line.
Piper quickly retied the red fabric around his neck. Then, he grabbed hold of the rope and, in a flash, scrambled up the rigging and hooked the wheel through one of the iron rings along the yard. Just as quickly, he scurried back down while Tristan knotted a loop in the bottom of the rope and slid his foot into the hole. Then he turned to Rose. With one hand gripping the rope, he flashed her a heart-stopping smile and opened his arm, inviting her into his embrace.
She squealed, unable to contain her excitement while she wrapped her arms around his neck. He gripped her waist firmly. They locked eyes. His danced with warmth. Smiling down at her, he continued to hold her gaze as he called out. “Steady as you go, men.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Piper and Jacob, whose thickly muscled arms were on display in his tunic with cutoff sleeves, began to slowly pull the rope, and up they started to rise.
“Don’t let go,” she cried, clinging to Tristan’s neck as they rose higher and higher. When they neared the crow’s nest, Davy scampered out onto the yard, which he straddled while they took over his perch.
Tristan put his foot into the rigging before lifting her into the crow’s nest. Then he climbed in behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her flush against his body.
“Despite Davy’s claim, there is really only room for one in here.”
She smiled up at him. “’Tis snug, but I prefer that. I feel more secure.” She glanced down and a shiver shot through her. They were towering above the deck.
“Don’t look down,” he advised. “Look out.”
The moment her gaze lifted, she forgot their great height. A jolt of wonder shot through her. The sun beat down overhead, casting beams of light that danced like stardust across the water’s surface. The ocean surrounded them. Never had she felt so powerful and so insignificant in her whole life—a feeling that was at once freeing and terrifying. Exhilaration coursed through her veins, causing her heart to thud against her chest. She raised her arms high above her head, reaching for the puffy white clouds that dotted the bright blue sky.
“Look,” she exclaimed, pointing toward a family of dolphins leaping above the waves in a beautiful display of elegance and strength.
It was so glorious that it was almost too much to bear. Tears stung her eyes.
“Are you all right,” he said softly in her ear, his lips brushing her skin.
She nodded. The endless blue water now blurred in her eyes. She blinked the moisture away. “This is more stirring to my soul than anything I could have dreamed.” She turned away from the rippling waves and swooping seagulls and tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “Thank ye,” she said. “Ye cannot know how much my soul needed this.” A soft gasp escaped her lips as he reached out and slowly stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek.
“Captain!” Jacob called up, snaking their attention. “Timothy found a small leak in the bilge.”
A regretful smile tugged at his lips. “It would seem your ship requires my care.”
She cleared her throat. “I do insist ye keep her seaworthy for me.”
He hoisted himself up on the rail of the nest with ease before balancing on the yard next to Davy. Then, taking hold of the line, he reached for her.
“Remember,” he smiled. “Don’t look down.”
“Unless you want to,” Davy chimed in.
She buried her face in Tristan’s neck as they glided down to the deck. When her feet touched down, his arm lingered around her waist. “You worked hard today. Will you consider resting before the evening meal?”
She nodd
ed. “I hate to admit it, but my strength has not fully returned.”
He released her and stepped back. “I will send Davy down with a fresh pitcher of water for you to wash, and I would like to request that you change for supper.”
She looked down at her tunic. “Why must I change?”
He smiled. “When we reach London, you will have to change for every meal. I thought it might be wise to start practicing now.”
“Ah-ha,” she said, smiling. “Now I understand why ye bought me so many tunics.” She lifted her chin in the air. “I will do my best to make myself presentable for the evening meal,” she said mimicking his accent. Then with a wink, she crossed the deck and disappeared down the hatch to their cabin.
~ * ~
Tristan stood on the forecastle, gazing out to sea. He was joined by Philip who stood with his back against the rail.
“The wind favors our course,” Tristan said. “If we maintain this speed through the night, we might arrive in Calais by tomorrow evening.”
Philip nodded. “Hours earlier than our best time. Let us just hope it doesn’t change direct—” The quarter master’s words ended abruptly.
Tristan whirled around and spied what had left Philip so speechless. Rose stood on deck, dressed in a copper brocade surcote over a turquoise silk tunic with a yellow kirtle beneath. About her waist hung a braided leather belt, which secured her dagger. The sapphires glinted in the waning sunlight. Over her unbound red curls, she wore the silver and sapphire circlet and a delicate white veil, which lifted in the breeze. She stopped and spoke with Davy who was staring at her like a lovesick pup, and who could blame him? She was a vision.
“Captain.”
“Ah, yes,” Tristan said, tearing his eyes away from Rose to look at his cook who had made a special appearance on deck. “What is it, Timothy?”